


Out of the Woods

by the_ktgrace



Series: 1989 - Bellarke [2]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Based on a Taylor Swift Song, F/F, One Shot, One Shot Collection, Street Racing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-25
Updated: 2016-11-25
Packaged: 2018-09-02 05:19:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8652493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_ktgrace/pseuds/the_ktgrace
Summary: “Clarke? Thank God you picked up.” Octavia’s voice sounded strange and constrained, full of emotion.“Aren’t you visiting Lincoln? What happened?” “The paramedics --- they just called me and --- and since I’m out of state I can’t do anything --- so I knew I needed to call you because he’d want me to call you---”“Slow down, Octavia,” “Bellamy was in a crash, Clarke.”___Inspired by Taylor Swift's "Out of the Woods". Bellarke Oneshot





	

_Two Months Ago…_

_It was two days before Christmas Eve. Bing Crosby’s “White Christmas” was playing softly from Clarke’s iPod, and the entire house smelled like gingerbread. Sharing a blanket, Clarke and Bellamy were pressed against each other on the couch. Clarke’s head fit neatly under Bellamy’s chin._

_His hand snaked out from beneath the fleecy blanket to grasp hers, slipping his larger fingers in between each one of hers. Clarke raised their intertwined hands, marveling at how perfectly they fit together._

_“Like they were made to be together,” she murmured softly in a whisper._

_Bellamy pressed a silent kiss to her forehead, fingers tightening in their locked grip. When he pulled away, his eyes found hers. “Together.”_

 

* * *

 

 

Clarke heard the turning of the key in the lock and her front door opening, but she didn’t bother to look up. Instead, she kept her eyes glued to her computer screen as Bellamy let himself inside

“Hey,” he called out, dropping his phone and keys on the cabinet next to the front door. He walked up to Clarke’s chair and bent down to kiss her cheek. She pulled away without looking at him, keeping her eyes on her report.

“Clarke,” Bellamy began, hesitant. “What’s wrong?”

“Trying to finish this,” she muttered under her breath, punching a few keys on the keyboard then pausing. Her mind wasn’t focused on her anatomy report, and this was making it very difficult to write the remaining one-thousand words. Her hands hovered over the keys.

“You could at least look at me, you know.” Bellamy said, trying to keep the irritation out of his voice.

Clarke’s eyebrows sunk even lower over her eyes.

“Great,” he groaned. “You’re mad at me. What this time?”

She sat back in her seat and folded her arms. “You were racing again, last night, weren’t you?”

“What?”

“Street racing, Bellamy.”

He bit his lip, knowing he was guilty. “Who told you that?”

“Monty. He also said he tried to talk you out of it, but once Murphy got you going you just wouldn’t stop.” Clarke finally turned to face him. She tried to focus on anything but his dark eyes, instead looking at the dusting of white snowflakes on his hair and sweater.

“Clarke,” Bellamy pleaded, “We were just messing around, having some fun---”

“Fun? That _fun_ is dangerous, Bellamy! That _fun_ got Sterling killed!” Clarke heard her own voice rising, but she couldn’t help it. After that good kid Sterling was in a nasty racing crash, Clarke had become worried. Bellamy was one proud, often-cocky guy, and he’d been a sucker for the thrill of the race long before the Sterling accident. She had hoped that the tragedy would be enough to keep him from racing. It wasn’t.

“There’s ice on the streets, Bell. It’s snowing out there every other night. What makes you think that this is a good idea?”

“I’ve done it a thousand times, Clarke,” Bellamy insisted. “I know what to do behind the wheel, I’m not an idiot.”

Clarke ran her hands through her hair angrily. “God, I wish you’d just use your _head_ sometimes, instead of making such stupid decisions!”

Bellamy’s face shifted, showing a dark intensity. “So you _do_ think I’m an idiot? That I don’t think? That I’m some sucker dumbass who can’t think for himself?”

“No I didn’t mean that, I was just ---”

“That’s exactly what you meant.” Bellamy through his hands up, “Because that’s you, Clarke. You’re the paragon of knowledge and good decisions. And yes, I said _paragon_.  And I’m smart enough to know what it means.”

“I never said you were stupid, Bellamy. You just make stupid decisions.”

“What’s the difference? You’re always talking down to me, liking I’m too stupid to understand anything on your level. Like you’re miles above me. Well, dammit Clarke, I’ve had enough of that!”

“Why does everything have to turn into an effing confrontation with you, Bellamy? God, I can’t even have one conversation with you without you turning on me.”

“I’ve had enough,” he turned to snatch up his keys and phone. “I’m out of here.”

“Fine!” Clarke called, turned back to face her computer again. “Leave!”

“Don’t bother calling, Clarke.” He growled, throwing the front door open.

“Don’t let the door hit your ass on the way out!” She yelled back at him, cheeks red and burning.

The slam of the door sounded like a shattering bomb in both their minds.

 

* * *

 

 

_Goddammit she is frustrating._

Bellamy gripped the steering wheel like a vise, his knuckles going completely pale. He could still see his breath chill up inside the car, even though he had the heat cranked as high as it could go. The wipers were furiously trying to swat away the snowflakes landing on his windshield. He kept the car at a speedy 50 mph on a winding road.

He shook his head, trying to push the curls out of his eyes. Perhaps it was the sting of the winter air, but he couldn’t stop them from watering. _Get it together, you sissy_ , he mentally reprimanded himself. He wouldn’t sink that low, to cry in his car alone. Over a girl. Over _Clarke_. _I’m not some character on an effing soap opera, for Christ’s sake._

In some part of his mind, he felt that Clarke was right. Weeks ago, she had asked him, _begged_ him not to get back into street racing. _“What if something were to happen to you?”_ She had pleaded, _“Something like Sterling. I couldn’t handle that.”_

He knew the risks. He’d been racing for years, and he’d seen enough accidents to teach him the lessons. But he’d always escaped them, and he knew he was good at it. Bellamy could read the road and the cars like no one else.

And of course it had been Murphy to get him going, to challenge him. Bellamy wanted to do nothing but walk away, but Murphy wasn’t ready for that. He kept pushing at Bellamy.

_“What, your little girlfriend won’t let you race anymore? God, you let that bitch call the shots and walk all over you like that… I thought you were better than that, Bellamy.”_

Bellamy had wanted to get up in Murphy’s face and start throwing punches, to see what that smug bastard’s face would look like with a broken nose. But he figured he’d get more satisfaction out of whooping Murphy’s ass in a race.

Behind the wheel before the race, all Bellamy could feel was anger. Anger towards Murphy, for speaking about Clarke that way. But also anger towards Clarke, because some of what Murphy had said rang true. Why was Clarke always telling Bellamy what to do and what not to do? Why did she always take over?

“Because I let her,” Bellamy mumbled to himself, seeing his reflection in the dark windshield. “Because it’s Clarke, and I can’t tell her _no_.”

He wasn’t paying attention when he spotted the deer in the middle of the road. His brain took a split second too long, switching from thinking about Clarke to forcing his foot onto the brake pedal. Hard.

 

* * *

 

 

Clarke slammed her laptop closed harder than she should have. She pushed away from her mom’s kitchen table, grateful that her mother was at a medical conference for the weekend. She’d tried to convince Clarke to come along with her, the proud mother of a brilliant med-student. Clarke had politely declined, planning to spend this weekend catching up on her anatomy report and spending time with Bellamy.

She couldn’t stay focused on her report, and her time with Bellamy had been ruined. So far, her weekend was just great.

Clarke leaned forwards, resting her elbows on her knees and head in her hands. Bellamy could be so damn stubborn when he wanted to be. _Why does he have to fight me on everything?_ She asked herself for the hundredth time. _Why can’t he see things from my point of view?_

They’d been together for almost five months now, on and off and on again. Raven and Jasper loved to joke that Clarke and Bellamy went back and forth more often than any celebrity couple, and that everyone else needed gossip updates on whether or not they were speaking to each other. _“Honestly,”_ Raven would tease, _“You two could keep People magazine in business with your relationship alone.”_ There was some sad truth to that.

Clarke pressed the home button on her phone, watching her wallpaper light up. The picture showed Clarke and Bellamy together, taking a goofy selfie. That night, Clarke had insisted on teaching Bellamy how to dance, so they’d pushed all the living room furniture to one wall so they could have some space. He’d started out with two left feet, but as the night wore on his confidence grew and they couldn’t stop laughing with each other. It was one of Clarke’s favorite memories together.

_Together._

But then they’d had another fight a week or so later. Not as bad as this one, but nasty. And that’s how they were, always on and off. Each time, Clarke would ask herself, _Are we out of the woods yet? Are we in the clear yet?_

Clarke’s cell had just fallen back to black when it started to buzz. She jumped, startled, then answered once she saw the caller ID. It was Octavia. _Weird,_ she wondered, _Isn’t Octavia out of the state with Lincoln?_

“Hey, Octavia, what’s up?” Clarke asked, waiting for her friend on the other end of the line.

“Clarke? Thank God you picked up.” Octavia’s voice sounded strange and constrained, full of emotion.

“Aren’t you visiting Lincoln? What happened?” _Oh no, please tell me they didn’t break up. I don’t need to be playing counselor tonight._

“The paramedics --- they just called me and --- and since I’m out of state I can’t do anything --- so I knew I needed to call you because he’d want me to call you---”

“Slow down, Octavia,” Clarke said, leaning forward in her seat. That “he” Octavia was referring to couldn’t have been Lincoln. Clarke’s stomach was telling her otherwise.

“Bellamy was in a crash, Clarke.”

Clarke’s mouth fell open, silent. Her hand started to tremble, and she clutched the phone even tighter.

“They said he was driving fast --- and he hit some ice --- it looks like he tried to stop the car too quickly --- I don’t know, maybe he thought he was going to hit something? He braked too soon and spun --- spun out on some ice and hit a telephone pole. They took him to the hospital, down at Ark Valley. I --- I should be there, with him Clarke. I should be there.” Octavia sobbed into the phone.

Clarke struggled to pull words out of the air. “How bad is he?”

“Head injury. That’s all they told me.”

Clarke stood up too quickly, all of the blood rushing from her brain. She fumbled to find her car keys. “I’m heading to the hospital now. Ark Valley General?”

“Yes. I should be there, I should come home.”

“No,” Clarke found herself reassuring Octavia. “He’s going to be okay, Octavia. I’ll let you know how he’s doing as soon as I reach him. He’s going to be okay.”

The truth was: there could be no truth to that statement at all. Bellamy could be okay. But he could also _not_ be.

 

* * *

 

 

Clarke practically flew through the doors into the emergency room. She walked with long, quick strides, marching her way to the front desk.

“I’m looking for Bellamy Blake,” Clarke panted, “I was told he was just brought here.”

The nurse leisurely typed in the name and glanced at her screen. “Family member?”

“No, but---”

“Mr. Blake is only available for visits from immediate family members, due to our regulations.”

“I’m his girlfriend,” Clarke said through gritted teeth.

The nurse looked torn between letting Clarke through and sternly telling her to back off. Finally she grabbed a clipboard. “Name?”

“Clarke Griffin.”

The nurse raised an eyebrow at that name. Abby Griffin was a well-known surgeon at Ark Valley General, so the name must’ve rang a bell. “Hallway to your left, room 205.”

Clarke gave a hurried “thanks” and took off down the hall. When she reached the marked door, she saw it was shut but not locked. A quick glance through the window showed no doctors or nurses currently inside, so Clarke clutched the handle and gave it a quiet spin.

Clarke was a medical student. She’d studied the human body under all sorts of trauma. She’d seen photographs of severe injuries and autopsies, and she had stomached it all with a thick shell and analytical mind. But the sight of Bellamy Blake in a hospital bed was almost too much for her.

His olive skin was unnaturally pale, and he looked smaller and more fragile hooked up to all of the tubes and wires. Chest exposed, Clarke could see a string of nasty bruises where he must’ve been thrown against the steering wheel. A red welt along his shoulder burned from the seatbelt, and he wore a snaking line of switches stretching from the center of his forehead down his left temple. Clarke counted twenty.

Clarke’s steps were slow and hesitant as she crossed to his side, like getting too close to him might set his monitors blaring. When Bellamy had left her mother’s house, he’d been in a rage that left Clarke angry and scared. Now, she was just scared in every way, and in ways she’d never wanted to be. She knew Bellamy was in stable condition, and if he was already stitched up then his head wound would be manageable. But her whole body still ached with worry.

Clarke pulled up a chair beside the bed and reached for Bellamy’s hand. Avoiding the sensors around his finger, Clarke wrapped her fingers in between his, locking their hands together. The gentle touch roused Bellamy.

“Clarke,” he said in a raspy low voice.

“Oh Bellamy,” she whispered back to him, her voice shaky like a thin pane of glass. “What am I going to do with you?”

Through his bleary, medicated gaze came a look of undeniable affection, like he was pouring all of his heart out through his eyes. A tear spilled from the corner of his blackened left eye, leaking down his freckled cheek and onto the pillow. Then another.

Clarke couldn’t hold back. While tears fell from Bellamy’s eyes in complete silence, Clarke fell into open sobbing. Her body shook as she fought the tears, but they just kept coming. “You’re going to be okay,” she repeated, more for herself than for Bellamy. “You’re going to be okay.”

 

* * *

 

 

The doctors and nurses checked on Bellamy several times throughout the night. They let him sleep, not disturbing him as they reviewed his reports from the monitors. They never questioned the blonde girl fast asleep in a chair next to his bed, head slumped over and hand intertwined in his.

Of course, Clarke hadn’t slept well. She woke up over and over again, always checking that Bellamy was still there and breathing. Feeling his quiet pulse through his hand, pressed tightly against hers.

And when he woke up to sunlight leaking through the hospital curtains, he woke up to Clarke’s blue eyes gazing back at him, full of worry and relief.

 

* * *

 

 

She drove him home as soon as he’d gotten the approval to leave.

They sat in silence on the drive home, Bellamy closing his eyes to get some light sleep while Clarke focused on the road. Her mind was racing, and she was fighting to keep up. Her brain – typically so rational, so smart – was battling her heart, and she felt like she was being torn to pieces from the inside out.

She pulled into the driveway of the Blake residence: a small, worn-down ranch house with a large front yard. In the springtime, Octavia would devote hours to working in the garden, filling the yard until it overflowed with flowers and bushes. Now, the trees were too bare and spindly, like strange, long-legged monsters.

They both got out of the car and walked to the front porch. Digging for his key, Bellamy unlocked the front door and stepped inside, assuming Clarke would follow. He turned when he realized she was staying out on the porch.

“I’m not coming in,” Clarke tried to keep her voice steady.

Bellamy gave her a look that said _I cannot fricking believe this_. “Clarke, come on.”

She shook her head. “I --- I shouldn’t, Bellamy.” She took a step backwards, off the porch.

“Why not?”

She tried to find the right words, “I almost lost you, and I nearly fell apart. What if --- what if this is just too much? All of this… being with you. What if I can’t take it?”

Bellamy stepped down off the porch to stand right in front of her, “Clarke, I’m not going anywhere.”

“I’d just --- I couldn’t handle losing you, okay?” _So maybe it’s easier to leave you now than lose you when I’m not ready._ Clarke was starting to cry again, her breathing becoming short and shallow.

Bellamy placed a hand on Clarke’s cheek, and one of her teardrops fell alongside his thumb. “Nobody said this was ever going to be easy, Clarke. If that is what you truly want – to leave before you get in any deeper – then I can’t stop you. I can only ask you to stay. _Please_.”

 

* * *

 

 

_Three Months Ago…_

_It was getting late. Norah Jones was crooning off a CD in the distant background, but all there was in the world was Bellamy, and Clarke held onto him like he was everything. They swayed back in forth in a slow-moving dance. Clarke’s head rested on his chest, listening to a steady heartbeat that seemed to match her own._

_“I don’t think I’ve ever been in love before.” Clarke said, mostly to herself._

_“You don’t think?” Bellamy asked. “I’m pretty sure you would know if you were in love.”_

_“How?”_

_His mouth crinkled for a second while he thought, exposing his little dimples. “Well, love takes a lot of things and puts them in a new perspective. A new way of looking at life. You care about a person, but so much that you put them above other things, or even yourself. When they’re not around, you think about the ways they’ve made you smile, and it brightens your day. Even the thought of the person you love can change everything.”_

_She spoke very slowly, “I think I’m falling in love.”_

_Bellamy gave a winning grin at Clarke, “Then you’re long gone by now.”_

 

* * *

 

 

“ _Please_.”

Clarke felt like her ears were ringing. All around her, the snow made the landscape too white and bright, and it hurt her eyes. She took a breath. She counted the stitches on Bellamy’s head (twenty). She watched the way the trees cast shadows like monsters. Another breath.

The whole world seemed to be holding its breath for her. And maybe the whole world was, because she realized her world was standing in front of her, with begging brown eyes and twenty stitches across his forehead.

And it all made sense.

Clarke fell into Bellamy’s arms, shaking against his body. He held her tight, being the comfort and the rock she needed. _I couldn’t leave you if I tried._

And he was right. None of this would be easy, and Clarke knew that. They were difficult people. Sometimes, the right two difficult people find each other, and love happens. And it would be messy. And tricky. And downright difficult.

They were built to fall apart.

And fall back together.

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
